


Hold your tongue

by bluebells



Series: Ceasefire [10]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Field medic Lucio in action, M/M, Protective Team Talon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-02-10 01:59:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12901542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: They break up on a Monday. If only it ended there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littleartemis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleartemis/gifts), [CryptidBae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CryptidBae/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: “I wish I didn’t have these feelings, but I do.”

Lúcio shouldn't say anything.

He shouldn't.

His arms cross tightly over his chest and he huffs a breath when strong hands stroke down his arms in what might be an attempt of comfort.

Comfort. Here.

That's a laugh.

He tries not to shy from the familiar touch of those calloused palms, stomach tightening, but fingers tip his chin up, and then Lúcio has to look on the face of his complication.

Not for the first time, it occurs to him that Akande is really handsome. And his eyes are gorgeous, even if he often stares a little too long and makes people uncomfortable. He's not afraid to study people. Right now, the full intensity of that focus is narrowed on him in a careful frown, and he resists the urge to look away.

Lúcio adores the strength of his features, bold and broad unlike his own straighter face, and a form he conditioned for speed. Akande was built to brawl while Lúcio trained himself to evade the need for it altogether. Not today. No more running.

“Ìfẹ́-ọkàn mi….” Akande smooths a thumb over his lower lip and Lúcio almost turns his face towards that palm on instinct. “You are thinking very loudly.”

Don't say anything.

Before him in their secreted Illios motel room, early morning slants across Akande's face. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, drawing Lúcio to follow so the shorter man doesn't have to crane his neck to meet his eye.

They are both dressed, the work of a few minutes though it took even less than that to get them off last night. Lúcio spent most of his time this morning looking for where Akande threw his gloves and eventually found them behind the television.

At his back, the news anchor reports concerns of local unrest in the wake of tensions in Egypt. Is Talon behind that, too?

The story eclipses to silence as Akande turns off the television, giving Lúcio his full attention.

"I'm just... worried. For you," Lúcio murmurs, drinking in Akande's open body language, the hands he props on his knee, head tilted to listen attentively.

The bark of laughter is expected.

"You, worry? For me?" Akande smiles, squinting at Lúcio as though he will see the truth behind the joke if only he looks close enough. Lúcio's face burns, an emotion tightening in his chest he's not willing to study too closely as Akande laughs again, shaking his head. "And what cause have I given you for this concern?"

People are not all good or all bad.

Lúcio knows what he’s read, like everyone else: Akande Ogundimu is brilliant, aggressively forward-thinking, and persuasive. It’s these qualities that make him dangerous, more than his stolen gauntlet, more than the body count that climbs with each appearance of his name in the news. More ruthless than his own violence is the carnage Lúcio has witnessed him inspire in others: hangars of armoured Talon agents, guns raised, baying like slavering hounds for Doomfist’s glorious vision of a better world.

But Lúcio can’t ignore the other things he’s learned: the schools Akande’s subsidiaries established in his home country, the scholarships and medical care reconnecting and sustaining families still scarred decades after the events of the Omnic Crisis. The dangerous men he has recruited to his side so he can keep a close eye, and put down the worst of them himself.

The math is simple: the lives Akande has saved far outnumber those lost in his wake. That they know of. And still....

Lúcio closes his eyes with a small sigh, biting his tongue.

"I know you believe in what you're doing, man, through and through. But...." He shakes his head, arms falling to his sides. "I want to ask you not to anyway."

Akande doesn't hesitate. "Then ask."

"Don't," Lúcio fires back at Akande's amused smile. " _Please_ don't."

Akande stills, his smile softening into a calculated line and it's like watching a film of ice pass over his eyes the moment he understands they have finally come to this conversation, after these three long months.

The shift from Akande to Doomfist is disturbingly seamless. A ripple seems to pass beneath Akande's skin, every feature relaxing at the surface, but Lúcio feels the man's strength coiling at the ready, electrifying the air with tension. And as that electricity builds, the easy comfort of the shield they erected around themselves over all these months begins to slowly and irreversibly fracture.

Lúcio doesn't know why the break seems to start in his chest.

What would his family or friends say if they knew how long he had let this go on? That he let it happen at all?

"Years of planning," Akande says. His voice has smoothed with a disquietingly familiar charm that gives Lúcio the chills.

"Don't do that."

It makes his stomach roll to hear that voice used on him, and in the sanctum of... whatever this is. He shakes his head, feeling the illusion fracture further. He stops himself from pushing the heel of his hand against the sudden pang in his chest.

Akande continues, and Lúcio's attention is drawn to the slow, intent gesture of his hand. "Every conflict, every _war_ makes us stronger. With our work, humanity will bear more like you who rise up and lead us forward."

Lúcio stares at the man in disbelief. Is he for real? What exactly is he trying to start?

"And how many will die? How many who never had the means or the chance to protect themselves?" Lúcio thrusts a hand at the window to the world Akande thinks himself fit to reshape, voice rising. "Your way, Akande-- it raises those _you_ favour, and the privileged even higher. Don't use me as a poster child for your war mongering. It could have been anyone else in Rio, but it's dumb luck that I'm the one who stole that technology first."

"No," Akande rises to his feet, voice hushed with an intense passion, eyes alight. "You survived because you were the _strongest_ , Lúcio!"

Lúcio takes a step back, unafraid, but unwilling to let the other man close the distance. "We didn't want to fight. People were disappearing. They were being beaten in the streets. Thrown into jail without charge or sufficient cause. A building exploded and they pretended it wasn't their fault. That was _your_ people."

Akande shakes his head immediately. "Not _mine_." His lip curls in an ugly scowl, voice hardening. "There is nothing more cowardly than a bomb."

Oh, right. Akande doesn't know that Lúcio has learned Vishkar sit at his table. Which just makes everything the two of them have been doing even worse.

He swallows thickly, taking another step back when Akande reaches for him. It physically pains Lúcio not to let him. When the hell did they get so far?

Lúcio tries to swallow some moisture down his throat, even that is difficult. His body is wound so tight, trembling. It forces his words out quiet and unsteady.

"People died, and they didn't have to. I fight so nobody has to live through that again. We just want to live. How many in places like mine, do you think would survive a war? A _real_ war?" He tilts his head, studying Akande's face intently, but he's not as good at this as Akande, and Akande's expression is stone. "Why do you get to decide that for us?"

"A war is coming, Lúcio, with or without me. But with me, we can steer its machine." With a blink, something softens in his expression. Akande sighs, straightening. His shoulders relax and Lúcio feels some of the tension leave his own body. "You can still leave. Do not make the quarrel between us today."

Lúcio smiles wryly, shrugging and throwing his hands up. "It was always between us. But this only worked when we pretended otherwise, huh? Listen." He leans his hands on his hips, and watches Akande's expression light up further when Lúcio steps in, voice gentle. "Would be easier if I didn't, but I care about you. I wish--" His heart hammers, but he forces the words out past tight lungs and his throat closing, he has to now or he never will, "I wish I didn't have these feelings, but I do. And I gotta fight for those people who can't fight for themselves. You know?"

Akande is quiet, dark eyes searching Lúcio's face long enough for Lúcio to see that he understands. He understands and it's not relief or joy that Lúcio sees in his face, but he never expected that.

He never expected this to go for more than one night, all those months ago in Numbani.

"You won't get the answer you want from me," Akande says, in a strange tone that Lúcio doesn't understand. The man doesn't even have the decency to make it sound like an apology.

Lúcio nods, gaze dropping to the floor, adjusting his stance. He anticipated that. He just hopes Akande can't tell he's shaking.

Glancing to the door at his back, the silence is heavy and brings the realisation crashing down that he only has seconds before those targets return to their backs and they'll need to raise their weapons.

Against each other? Fuck.

"... Would you do it yourself?" Lúcio asks, unable to look Akande in the face, doesn't even consider that Akande might not understand.

He feels a huff of air on his temple a moment before a hand turns his face, and then Akande is kissing him. Deeply. A tongue slides between his lips, a gentle hand cups the back of his head, and Lúcio's whole body gives up the fight, bowing towards Akande as it releases the tension of the last five minutes. His heart is thundering in his chest, his eyes sting -- no, fuck, he's not going to lose it --

Akande pulls back before Lúcio is ready, a sharp, wet break of sound, and Lúcio whimpers despite himself, body leaning in to follow him.

Fuck.

Akande's eyes are dark and pupils blown. He swallows audibly, glancing from Lúcio's lips to meet his gaze. His hands fall away. "If I see you on the field. Go the other way."

Metal scrapes on wood as Akande swipes his earpieces from the table and when the door swings shut behind his back, Lúcio's ears ring in the silence.

And he can’t escape the feeling that there’s something else he should have said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ìfẹ́-ọkàn mi: Desire of my heart (Yoruba)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akande is not accustomed to begging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [Cryptid Bae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CryptidBae/) who requested a follow up using the drabble list prompt of Angst #12, "Who did this? Who hurt you?"

The moment Akande’s airship comes into sight docked behind Illios’s ruins, he tenses. The sun shines too bright, the air is too still and quiet. Something is wrong.

He adjusts the headphones over his ear, flicking the power switch and waits for the electronic chirp of comms onlining.

"Sombra," he summons, quietly as he can. "Status report."

A glance to the miniaturised tablet within his belt confirms Sombra's ID is active on their shared comm link. Silence is his answer.

The warning in his gut heightens. Akande presses himself to the shadows of the nearest structure, a grey rubble of hewn, ancient stones. The distance to the ship is simple calculation and with the charge of his gauntlet, he skirts the cliff's edge in two long bounds. He does not fear the prospect of a long drop. With the gauntlet on his arm, it's the safer option over an unknown danger.

Akande slips through the ship's rear door, closing it behind him the moment it hisses wide enough for him to pass.

The smells of burning steel and discharged gunfire curl in his nose. Only the sputtering crack of exposed circuits breaks the silence. He clears the rear bay, noting the pockets of missing harddrives in the wall. He can't do anything about that now.

The main ramp is down, exposing the command table and entire bay to the warm Aegean breeze... and potential sight lines of anyone with eyes on them.

Keeping to the shadows, Akande takes in the carnage of his ship's interior. Papers, data pads and a broken keyboard scatter the floor. The fire extinguisher has been wrenched from the wall. He spots the bright red edge of it on its side, peeking from beneath the command table at the far end of the bay.

The monitors along the walls are either dark or jumping with lines of blue snow. There, the bullet holes are the most obvious: impact fracturing glass through the jagged, looping dance of data and light. The spray pattern suggests close automatic fire, a tracking shot.

A weak groan makes him startle, heart leaping.

Rushing to the foot of the stairs, Akande scans quickly for motion between the greenery and grey of stones outside and smacks the button to close the ramp.

Slumped in the corner beneath the cover of a low, bolted bench, Sombra lies in a twisted sprawl, eyes closed. The collar of her jacket is dark with blood, and her skin shines with sweat. Her normally olive complexion has greyed with the pallor of blood loss. Her semi-automatic is clutched in a weak grip to her stomach.

"Sombra."

Akande drops to a crouch, leaning in and carefully drawing her pistol away. His colleague doesn't react to the great shadow he casts over her, and he breathes out a sigh of relief, finding her breathing shallow, but clear of any gurgling or rattle.

"Sombra," he coaxes again, pressing fingers to the pulse of her neck. It's slower than he would like. Ripping open the collar of her jacket, it takes a moment to locate the problem: blood wells freely where the skin splits in a deep stab wound above her collarbone.

Guilt tightens Akande's stomach.

By some miracle, it hadn't cut her breathing, but this is recent.

From the freshness of the gunpowder lingering in the air and Sombra's state with the extent of her injuries, this just happened. Akande wagers, within the last ten minutes. If he had been but a few minutes earlier, he might have - no he _would_ have saved her.

The entry wound is clean, sharp and deep: a blow from a blade designed for precision, not to snag or tear. It is not only a miracle that it missed her airways, but that it didn't nick an artery on entry.

He scowls, stripping off his shirt to stem the bleeding, and mentally compiles known names with a vendetta against Sombra, himself, or Talon. Who have a penchant for knives, and the means to find them docked outside city limits on an unscheduled, unrecorded detour.

It is a short list of suspects.

Akande balls his shirt against the wound and Sombra lurches to consciousness with a weak groan of distress, eyes unseeing, scanning wide and panicked. She paws at the hand over what must be a site throbbing in pain, her strength is almost boneless.

Akande's shirt soaks deep, dark red.

"You're safe," Akande lays his free palm over her forehead, stroking a thumb across the bridge of her brows. Sombra's eyes fix on him, bright with wild fear, and her breathing all but stalls as if her stillness could shroud her from his attention. Akande pitches his voice low to soothe, to help her calm and focus. "It's Akande. _Akande_. You are safe. Do you understand?"

Sombra frowns at him, another wheeze of air rising in weak affirmation. "... He--" She coughs, wincing through her body's reflex to curl on itself. When it passes, her lips are tinged red with blood.

Oh no.

"Tell me who it was," Akande urges, holding her gaze, willing her to stay awake through the growing battle to keep her eyes open. "Who did this to you?"

_Who hurt you?_

The surge of righteousness burns through the guilt threatening to knot his gut. No one comes after his team and lives to breathe of it.

Akande stills with a chilling realisation. The one who came after Sombra had the skills to find them, to down an expert in surveillance, circumventing her measures and besting her in a duel. And then... just to leave her alive? Not taking the opportunity to strike a killing blow?

Hushing Sombra's coughing fit, Akande glances around the bay.

Wait a minute. Where are all the first aid kits? 

Whirling to glance the length of the bay and up the stairs to both ends of his airship, Akande can see -- all the medical equiment is gone. The defibrillation kit also installed beside the fire extinguisher's housing has been removed.

This is no coincidence.

Sombra's cough rattles wet the next time she tries to speak, and Akande is severely reconsidering the wisdom of travelling without medics.

Medics.

His fingers slip on his phone the first time he tries to place the call, sliding to the wrong contact.

He places the phone on Sombra's stomach to free his hands, and the ring echoes on loudspeaker in the wide bay, Sombra's wet gasps unsettling him further with every wheeze.

The call connects with a beep, and Akande releases a sharp breath of relief.

"What?" Lúcio's terse greeting is the crack of a whip, and Akande's chest tightens as his vision swims with the memory of Lúcio's look of hurt before Akande turned his back. As though Lúcio couldn't believe what was happening, like he was watching a wreck unfold in slow motion--

Not now.

(That is Lúcio's own fault.)

_Not now._

Akande is fortunate Lúcio answered his call.

He looks down at Sombra, the look in her eyes glazing over and her forehead shining with cold sweat. Akande squeezes the bandage of his shirt over her wound. Blood wells between his fingers.

"I'm sorry, I don't have time to explain, there is a medical emergency and I need your help. Just you, no Overwatch. If I send you my location, will you come to me?"

Lúcio barks a laugh and his voice is reined tight. "You got some nerve--"

Akande glares at the phone and the non-descript contact name of a serial number, like every other on his list. "My agent was stabbed. She's bleeding out and there's blood in her airway. They took the med kits on our ship. Lúcio. She doesn't have time. Will you come?"

"Wait, they -- they what? Who's 'they'?"

"I can't treat her by myself. I promise this is _not_ a trap."

Sombra is watching him the next time Akande looks at her, eyes briefly brightened in clarity. She frowns at him, her pale lips parting to reveal more red. "Lúcio....?"

Damn it.

If she lives through this, Akande hopes she doesn't remember.

If she lives. The silence ringing from the other end of his call is raising his blood pressure.

"Lúcio?" he urges, and Sombra cries out weakly when he presses down firmly on her wound. The bandage is useless now, soaked through and squelching with blood.

Sombra is not an innocent. Akande cannot say if she deserves this end or something clean and kind, but nobody in their business labours under the illusion of living long to retire in comfort. Sombra is one of his. And they do not go down without a fight.

The spray of Sombra's gunfire through the airship's interior is proof of that.

"Lúcio," Akande swallows and starts bracing himself for the real possibility that Sombra may grow cold and still on his watch. His voice falls low and quiet. "Please. Will you come?"

He checks the phone to make sure Lúcio hasn't hung up, but yes, the call's duration is still ticking. Lúcio's contact number stares back at him, short, bold and accusingly non-descript.

A distant voice filters through the call, raising Akande's hackles with its sharp suspicion, "Lúcio? Who are you speaking to?"

The violet lacquer of Sombra's nails gleam with the twitch of her hand against her stomach. Red smears her fingers, and Akande turns her palms over to find defensive slashes that cut deep.

His blood boils imagining Sombra raising her hands against her assailant, instinctually reeling from the shock of being cut, only to fall under a blade at her neck.

At last, a sigh breaks Lúcio’s silence, and the medic gives him his answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To move forward, you must first look back.

_-3 months ago-_

"You know what this is?"

Hana squints at the tiny, circular container Lúcio holds up to her eye. Fitting small and neat in her palm, she pokes at the smooth, clear glass. Her voice is bright with conspiracy and triumph. "Omnic DNA."

Lúcio arches an eyebrow. "Wha? Uh... maybe. I don't... hmm... well." He studies it closely, rubbing his chin in thought. He doesn’t think it’s based on omnic designs, but his homegrown knowledge of electrical engineering is passable, at best. He shakes the device in its case. "It's a homing beacon. Tracker. I didn't notice it ‘til we got back to base, and Athena's alarms went off."

Hana's eyebrows rise in surprise. "It's not one of yours?" At Lúcio's shake of his head, she leans in for a closer look, mouth pensive. "Where did you get it?"

"You remember that friend we met today?"

Hana blinks at him. "Mister Mask? Or Mister Fist?"

Lúcio gives her a significant look, mouth tugging into a small smirk.

His new friend stares at him blankly. "I don't know what that means."

Lúcio flexes his arm, hand balling into a fist. Hana giggles at his exaggerated smirk, hiding her mouth behind her hand. It's a good likeness. "I think someone just left me an invitation," Lúcio explains, without explaining much of anything. Especially how the prospect makes his blood thrum at the challenge.

When Doomfist and Reaper made their stunt-worthy exit from Unity Plaza that afternoon, Lúcio thought that could be the last he would see of them, unless 76 decided to extend an olive branch while the DJ was still in town. That was unlikely, from what Lúcio gauged of the stern, proud soldier.

Lúcio wasn’t supposed to be there.

 _“Girl, we talked about this when I last saw you in London -- Vishkar, the amplifier.”_ Lúcio had waved over his shoulder when the call came in, as though to gesture at all the things he’d resigned to leave with Rio when he went on tour. _“That’s all done. I’m helping people another way now.”_

Lena steamrolled on with her encouraging, sunny smile. Shrugging, like she was asking him to ‘pop down to the shops for some milk, luv’. _“You’d be in our backlines as support,”_ she had said, " _If anyone catches this on video, you’d be well out of range.”_

Out of range? _“You expecting a fight? I thought you said this was just an escort. And why can’t you hire private security for this?”_

She hummed in consideration. “ _No, it’s_ sensitive, _we_ are _the security. And I meant… more if you were worried about a media storm. You have some big names backing you. But fire fights, too, right!”_

Okay, he hadn’t specifically mentioned guns, but it was good to know where Lena’s head was at.

Lúcio snorted under his breath and smiled, calm and confident. _“I’m not worried about any media. After Rio, people know what I stand for.”_

Lena’s shifty look was slightly bashful while she bit her lip. Was she embarrassed? _“Well… perception is reality, is what they say. And we’re still sort of… persona non grata. People infer a lot by the company you keep.”_

 _“Hey._ Hey _. I could never be ashamed of being seen with you. Ace pilot. Fighter for the people. Doesn’t even cheat on races. I don’t shun my friends like that.”_

Lena had brightened, leaning into the camera with an excited smile. _“So, you’ll come? Just this once, I promise. We could really use your help, if it doesn’t disrupt your schedule. And you can wear a disguise… all_ mysterious- _like if it’s easier. Talk to your agent.”_

 _“Oh I will_ definitely _not be telling them about this.”_

But three months later, Lúcio was still riding with Overwatch and his agent was still wondering why Lucio had such a large allotment of free time that was originally slated for charity work and promotions. Volunteering is how he thought of it, as Lena had apologised they couldn’t pay him for his time. Lúcio wasn’t in need of the money, and he thought of all their strange security details as work to help a friend short-handed.

His agent would have had his head if they knew how he was ‘wasting’ his time.

And sometimes, Lúcio did wonder what was really going on -- why specialists and scientists as overqualified as former Overwatch personnel were protecting a film director from fears of anti-omnic violence through a Hollywood set. But it was no grief to volunteer his time and abilities to heal their minor hurts and speed up their ventures (“ _I_ knew _you brought that thing with you!”_ Lena had crowed when Lúcio had turned up with his sonic amplifier slung over his shoulder). He genuinely enjoyed their company: Jesse had a dry, wicked sense of humour; Lena always made him smile; Winston was patient and pleased that someone was interested in his inventions; and when Hana showed up, Lúcio was starstruck. It was also the first real sign that he wasn’t the only favour Overwatch was calling in: they were recruiting fresh blood.

He’d tried playing ignorant before, and it hadn’t ended well for Rio.

Then Soldier 76 turned up with Ana at his side. Old soldiers. Lúcio could see it in the way they carried themselves, their direct and confronting manner, accustomed to authority and sharp, considered answers. A heavy, weary quiet preceded each room they entered like an augur of grief. The hysterical reaction to their appearance had been enough to humble Lúcio into a quiet corner to observe, until those two elders had turned to Overwatch’s newest recruits and asked, “And who is this?”

They had returned to lay Numbani on the table and ask for help: a supposed ceasefire to a war Lúcio didn’t even realise was raging. A chill ran down his spine when he heard the name ‘Doomfist’, and he had said ‘yes’.  

It was fair time he learned what was really going on.

And of all Overwatch’s roster, Lúcio didn’t expect to be the one receiving a personal follow-up invitation. Or was it a challenge?

Hana takes the tiny container again and holds it up to the light, frowning. "So, you gonna call them?"

Lúcio shrugs, tracking the arcing glints of light off the clear glass as Hana turns it over under the pale bulbs of their hideaway. "Might drop in."

"You can do that?"

"Who's gonna stop me?"

It’s Hana’s turn to look skeptical, amusingly so. She thrusts both arms out to enframe the command room of agents before them, new and unfamiliar, and none the wiser for their scheming. Hana and Lúcio are both new to this strange organisation. It’s easy to bond over their youth and mutual celebrity when it’s earned them skepticism from these seasoned soldiers, scientists and... whatever McCree is.

Overwatch has co-opted this stationery re-supply store as their command centre in Numbani’s office precinct. For children who grew up hearing the legend of Overwatch and its agents, it's sobering when they meet the shadows of its remains within abandoned buildings, reclaimed bases and crowded hotel rooms. The whole experience has been insightful: for all their humour and abilities, these people scramble to organise, and argue like every other group Lúcio has ever worked with. They’re just ordinary people.

They have more resources than Lúcio ever did when he and his crew led Rio against Vishkar, but his crew was tight. They were truly unified in common purpose.

Lena and her friends feel like they’re working from contract to contract -- scattered, directionless, and united on hope for a mission nobody will speak aloud. Unstable grounds for trust or unity.

He swipes the container back from Hana, flipping it like a coin. "They'd just slow me down."

Anyway, Lúcio is finding it hard to keep a low profile with his face plastered on banners through the whole city. At least he’d have an explanation for being seen in the streets. He reminds himself he’s only here as a favour to Lena, with his next concert not for another two days.

Hana leans in, crowding close against his shoulder. Sharing a desk in the back corner of the largely empty space, they are only half-listening with everyone else to Winston's explanation of the storeroom of peanut butter unearthed that morning.

"Want back up?" Hana offers quietly, hopeful, angling for a cure to her boredom, but Lúcio smiles, shaking his head.

“I got this.”

///

Once he’s back in his hotel room, it's a simple process to contact the world's most accomplished hacker: a scrambled email to one of three watched inboxes, and then sitting back to wait. The only challenge is in earning their acknowledgement.

The video call comes less than ten minutes after Lúcio hits ‘send’.

Sombra's face lights the heads-up display of Lúcio’s phone with her mischievous smile. Lúcio counts himself extremely lucky he gets a response each time he has reached out, that he is one of the few people in the world who knows the face behind the name. He has used her trust sparingly.

Sombra’s sing-song greeting makes him smile. "Ay, Lucito-oo-oo! La lucecita de mi noche!"

"Hola, Sombrita." Lúcio winks, bringing up the high resolution scan and analysis of the tracker he had found tacked to his boot.

"Vishkar? Atlas? Who are we stealing from to--" Sombra's gaze turns to the incoming image on her side. “Ooh.”

Lúcio watches her face carefully. "You lose something?"

Expression morphing to one of cooing appreciation, Sombra's mouth purses in pleasure. "Mm, the detail on this: 'exquisite' as my friend would say."

She laughs like it's a shared private joke. Lúcio can't help returning the smile, shaking his head. Sombra could never refrain from praising her own work, and he enjoys that about her. She is accomplished and deservedly proud of it.

On again, off again acquaintances, Lúcio hopes today that Sombra is on his side.

"A big guy from a bad place stuck this on me earlier today. What do you know about that?"

Sombra's mouth pulls in a shrug, head tilted in consideration. "He's not that bad."

He frowns. Not that bad? Doomfist? The Scourge’s successor?  “What makes you say that?”

“He pays me.”

Lúcio blinks, mouth falling open. Sombra… and _Doomfist?_ His brain feels like it has split down the middle. He leans in to his monitor. "You're working with _Talon_? ¿Lula, en qué pensabas? ¿No sabes quién es? ¿Sabes las cosas que hizo?"

That went against everything she was supposed to stand for! She was supposed to be independent like him! Sombra was supposed to fight for the people, not… work with the people who would destroy them!

Sombra's playful smile sharpens like the glint of a blade, a reminder that him she will cut him loose and scour all evidence of their bond without a second thought. He clenches his jaw under the intensity of her warning gaze that bores into him through the display.

"Name me 'squid' again, Lucero," she dares, cool and tempered. "You called _me_. You want answers, you _mind_ your mouth."

He rankles at the butcher of his name, biting down on the aggravation lest Sombra feed on his reaction.

She points off-screen presumably where Lúcio's tracker displays on her side. "His name is ‘Doomfist’, you already know. He ordered a set of these; a lot of interesting people passing through Numbani these days." She straightened in her chair, turning idly on its axle to provide her full attention. “I heard your talks were interrupted.”

"Yeah." Lúcio deflates with a scowl, still stung with disappointment. He thought there were good odds Sombra would have intel on his mark, but not that she would be _working_ with him, consciously and voluntarily.

"Well, if you're interested, I think it's worth hearing what he had to say. If I turn it back on, that tracker works both ways, you know."

He didn’t even have to ask. Sombra may be one of the greatest founts of knowledge on the planet, but Lúcio wonders if she realises her own weaknesses? She could never resist a chance to close the social gap, bring the mighty low. If she was not stepping to protect Doomfist, then the man had not earned her complete loyalty yet.

Lúcio tries not to smile, cringing instead and affecting self-doubt.

"You mean-- me? Talk to... _him_?"

Sombra shrugs. "Why _not_ you?"

He can't help showing her offer for what it was. "Sounds like a trap."

"If you're part of Overwatch, maybe. Or you could use your independent status to do something useful." She raises her hand and, in a few blips of lavender, the heads up display blinks. A new window pops up with a street map of Numbani. In the heart of the residential district across the city, a red icon blinks, strong and steady.

Using his independent status.

"Like you?"

Sombra shakes her head, dismissing it immediately. "I don't make house calls."

Lúcio studies the red blink of the icon, considering his options.

"Is he alone?" he finally asks.

"He is." Sombra leans in, the glint in her eye turning coy. "Don't overstay your welcome."

Lúcio smiles at the overt suggestion in her tone. "Still looking out for me? Watch your own back, Hermanita."

She clicks her tongue, giving him a sharp wink. "Still older than you."

The call disconnects.

///

_-Present day-_

Lúcio's arrival is heralded by the strange sound of his skates, an electro-mechanical whir that always made Akande wonder how the DJ could achieve stealth if he even tried.

Today, stealth is not the priority.

“Coming in over the wing, open the doors.”

Lúcio maneuvers through the narrow gap of the rear cargo bay doors without breaking his stride, swinging down from the roof and inside through one fluid motion. Akande's palm slams the controls, and the door begins to seal behind him.

Before the door is entirely shut, Lúcio is already descending the ship’s stair, not sparing Akande a second glance. It stings, but there are greater concerns on Akande’s mind, too.

"Where is she?" Lúcio demands, catching sight of Sombra’s prone form in the same breath. He bolts across the short bay and drops to his knees, swinging the pack off his back. “Ay, Sombra! ¿Soy yo, Lúcio, puedes escucharme?” The caricature of Muiraquitã on his pack immediately begins to soothe with a familiar healing song as the audio medic digs in his bag for supplies, and glances back to Akande hovering uncertainly by the stairs. “Get over here, I need your help.”

“What should I do?” Akande kneels beside him, reaching again to apply pressure on Sombra's wound.

Sweat beads on Lúcio’s hairline, he must have pushed hard to get here so quickly. His eyes are intent on Sombra’s wound while he lifts Akande’s hand to take in the damage. “Shut up and follow my lead.”

Sombra does not respond to the motion of Akande nor Lúcio crowding around her, to the pressure of Lúcio pressing Akande’s hands back with fresh bandages, or the jerk of her body when Lúcio cuts her jacket open to check for further wounds.

"¿Sombrita?" Lúcio calls sharply, firmly patting her cheek when she still doesn’t stir. Sombra’s head lolls to the side and Lúcio curses, pulling from his bag what Akande recognises as a scanner and one of the battery packs for his sonic amplifier. It sloshes with a rich gold liquid. “Okay, wound’s clear but her color is bad,” Lúcio says, drawing Akande’s attention back to his stern expression searching Sombra’s face, so keenly focused in his work. “We’re going to close this up, and then I need your help administering a transfusion; she needs blood.”

Akande nods without hesitation. “I am a universal donor.”

“I know,” Lúcio mutters, attention focused on calibrating another tool Akande does not recognise, something that looks like a thick, elaborate pen ending in a round, tapered point. Plugging its cabled extension into his battery pack of golden liquid, it lights up with an ethereal humm. Lúcio pulls Akande’s hand away and holds the edges of Sombra’s wound apart. Golden mist threads from the hand-held device into the red cavity of her flesh, and Akande watches the wound knit back together before his eyes.

He has seen many miracles in his lifetime: from his own augmentations to the jewel of Numbani rising against the African sun, but witnessing the technology of the world-renowned Doctor Ziegler never ceases to inspire awe in him. It has a finesse that his own scientists haven’t yet achieved. Those patents, those raw tools… are worth a lot of money.

The battery back is barely tapped when the pen eclipses with a soft, high note, signaling its work complete, and Lúcio turns up the volume on the song from his pack, diving back inside. Akande offers his arm, holding the bag open with his free hand as Lúcio searches, pulling out the administration set and a pack of alcohol swabs.

“When this is done, you’re gonna explain what the hell happened here,” Lúcio growls, powering up the equipment and watching its readings before reaching for Sombra’s bared inner arm. The administration set includes a scanner that reveals the line of her veins in glowing blue tracks beneath the skin. Sombra doesn’t react when the needle sinks in and Lúcio reaches for Akande’s arm next. “I need you to stand as I give her fluids. Let gravity do its work, yeah?”

Lúcio's assertive beside manner is reassuring and directs his focus. Akande obeys without a second thought, without even questioning if kneeling from his angle with his height provides enough downward flow or if maybe Lúcio just wants Akande to step back and give him some space.

“Hold this.”

Akande dutifully takes the clear bag of fluids and watches the intravenous line sink into his agent’s other arm. It occurs to him this is the first time he's seen Lúcio perform his role of an audio medic. Lúcio is focused, methodical and gratefully calm under pressure.

That he was on the verge of tears not half an hour ago, feels like some other world's reality.

“You're good at this,” Akande murmurs.

“Had a lot of practice because of people like you,” Lúcio says, taping down the IV line to keep it steady and from falling out. Again, he doesn't bother glancing Akande's way.

“Don't pity Sombra. She's capable and proud of who she is.”

Finally Lúcio looks at him. His glare is venomous and tempers the warmth spreading in Akande’s chest. “She's bleeding out on your floor, is what she is, Akande.”

Why is it that it only feels like Lúcio says his name when he's unhappy? Akande scowls and nods back to Sombra. He needs to redirect their focus.

“How do you know her?”

“We have similar interests.” Lúcio snorts a laugh under his breath, studying the readings from another scanner he runs the length of Sombra's body. “Or, I thought we did. Then she started working with you.”

Akande refrains from pointing out Lúcio's own hypocrisy. Working together. Sleeping together. Which was worse?

“Thank you for coming,” Akande says.

Lúcio's retort is instant. “I didn't do it for you.”

Akande bites the inside of his cheek, stifling a sigh. What else can he do? “Will she be all right?”

Lúcio shrugs with a shake of his head, setting the scanner down by Sombra's side, now monitoring her vital signs. It beeps with the slow rhythm of her heart rate. “Now we wait.” From his kneeling position, he cranes his neck to meet Akande's eye far, far above him. “Good thing you're so big. She might need a large transfusion.”

“Take what you need.”

“Count on it.” Lúcio’s jaw clenches, eyes returning to his patient while he cushions her head with his folded up jacket. And Akande believes in the moment that his former lover would gladly take the excuse to bleed him dry.

‘Former’... so soon, so soon. So _bitter_ , Lúcio.

_Clank._

Akande’s eyes leap to the ceiling of the airship. “What was that?” He lowers on his haunches, instinctively sinking into a battle ready stance.

It sounded like something hit them. Or landed.

Lúcio is already climbing to his feet, watching Sombra as though she will flatline without his attention for a bare moment. His eyes raise to Akande as he backs up towards the main ramp and his bloodied hands lift in appeal. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, don’t move.”

Akande’s hackles raise at the sense of imminent threat prickling the hairs on his neck. A low growl escapes his throat at the attempt to mollify him, and the arm infusing Sombra with life-giving blood clenches to a fist, his other hand holding the clear bag of fluids against the needle firm in his arm. “ _What_ have you done?”

He watches Lúcio reach back and slap the control releasing the main ramp. The warm sea breeze rushes in, thick and humid.

“Not everything’s up to me, okay?”

He hears the easing whine of jetpacks before the figure drops from the sky like a comet of azure, wings arched, shoulders broad and proud. The surrounding pillars tremble with the force of their landing, one knee planted in the ground. They are gilded head to toe in thick armour that gleams, piercing in its polish under the early morning sun.

Akande scowls at the sharp, dark eyes that find him under the helm of their golden beak. He shifts minutely to place himself between this new threat and his fallen agent.

“Helix International,” he grinds his jaw, shaking his head. He would recognise that flight suit anywhere. “Lúcio. You _do_ have friends in all places, don’t you?”

Lúcio does not reply and Akande does not look his way as the newcomer rises to their feet and climbs the ramp, slinging a short _cannon_ in their arms.

“Akande Ogundimu,” the woman declares in that same tone Akande has heard from countless authorities who failed to pen him in over the years. But her scowl is fierce, her eyes hard as diamonds, and if Akande was not hooked up to a needle, he would _relish_ the challenge of that cannon being leveled at his chest. “I am Captain Amari of Helix International Security. By the authority of the United Nations, you are under arrest for violating the terms of your sentence. You’re coming with me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My eternal thanks to the Doomcio discord server for the following Spanish translations:  
> 1) Ay, Lucito-oo-oo! La lucecita de mi noche! / Ay, lil Lucio, the little light of my night!  
> 2) ¿Lula, en qué pensabas? ¿No sabes quién es? ¿Sabes las cosas que hizo? / Squid, what are you thinking, you know who he is? You know what he's done? ('Lula' in Portuguese is 'squid')  
> 3) Hermanita / Sweet little sister (Lucio says this in a fond, patronising way, knowing full well Sombra is his elder)  
> 4) ¿Sombra, soy yo, Lucio, puedes escucharme? / Sombra, it’s Lucio, can you hear me?


End file.
